Matching Luggage
by profmom72
Summary: They say it's better to have loved and lost. Sometimes, that love can be found again. Edward and Bella both regret their break up seven years ago, but reconciliation is not without challenge. AH E/B O/S.


**A/N: Greetings all. Just a silly little one shot written for no reason other than to keep writing a little here and there. I don't own the characters.  
**

**Matching Luggage**

_**Edward**_

I tilted my head to the side and pushed up on my chin with my palm. The cracks rippled a little too loudly in the restaurant, and for an instant, I wondered if I'd broken something because the echo seemed almost unnatural. I I looked over at my date to make sure she didn't find the gesture rude. Jessica was oblivious. She continued telling me why Julia Roberts was the best actress of her generation. She waved her fork as she talked, and her eyes looked toward the ceiling as if she were searching for a clue.

A single noodle dangled on the edge of a tine, and each time she moved her hand, I thought it was going to go flying. I calculated the arcs and considered the velocity of various trajectories as she babbled. I was hoping it would follow path A and hit the heavily botoxed and overly tanned woman sitting to the left. Every time the woman laughed, she opened her mouth too far as if to show off all her perfect fake teeth. I wanted the noodle to land right in her mouth. I couldn't stop the grin forming at the very thought of the way the woman's face would contort to shock, or rather an attempt at that expression since her face was too frozen to actually move.

A lull in conversation alerted me that my attention had waned too far. I quickly met her eyes, smiled and nodded, hopeful that it was the appropriate response.

"I know, right?" she answered excitedly and continued on. Grateful I'd dodged a bullet, I took a large swallow of my beer. I appreciated the taste, but I wished it were something a little stronger. Turpentine perhaps.

Thankfully, she didn't want dessert, and I had an early meeting the next day, which brought the date to a swift albeit tricky end.

This was my third date with Jess. On the first, no kiss meant I was a gentleman. After the second, I politely but dispassionately kissed her on the cheek. She probably wondered why I'd even called for a third date. To be honest, I wondered the same thing. It seemed I had three choices. I could kiss her. It was what would be expected, and it would communicate ongoing interest, thus leaving the door open for us to continue dating. For some reason, the thought of that made me want to find an exit quickly. Second, I could skip it. It would tell her I wasn't interested. I wouldn't call again, and she could tell all her friends what an asshole I was. The last option was to break into coughing fits on the drive home. I could sniffle a little, wipe my nose on my sleeve, and tell her I suddenly didn't feel well. Certainly, a natural instinct to avoid catching a disease would prevent her from kissing me right?

I was seriously leaning toward number three, but my mother's voice kept nagging in my head.

"_You're too picky."_

"_You just have to give it time."_

"_The right woman might grow on you."_

"_There's no such thing as love at first sight."_

"_You're not getting any younger, you know."_

"_I would really like some grandbabies before I'm too old to pick them up."_

"_Sometimes you have to kiss a few frogs to find your princess."_

I held back on the coughing. I pulled up in front of Jess's apartment and killed the engine. Give it time. Kiss a frog. Jess waited expectantly. I got out of the car and walked around to her side to open her door. She smiled knowingly. Surely, she anticipated there would be a kiss. I couldn't back out. She let her hand dangle close to mine as we walked, waiting for me to grab it. I stuffed my hands in my pockets instead. Slick. Real slick. Maybe I really was coming down with something.

"It's a chilly night huh?" I said as a cover up.

She fumbled in her purse for her keys, and I resolved to putting my lips on hers. It's funny how much resistance I felt. A kiss seemed so innocent but so personal at the same time.

"Well," she began. "I guess this is goodnight."

"Yeah, it's too bad about my meeting. The jazz club sounded nice," I lied.

"Maybe next time?"

"Sounds good."

Her eyes were bright. Her lips jutted out just a bit, as if they were reaching toward mine. I leaned in, planning to make it a quick in and out, but when contact was imminent, Jess slipped her hands around me waist and deepened the action.

It wasn't a bad kiss. She didn't slobber or try to slip her tongue. It wasn't a great kiss either.

It mirrored how I felt about Jess in general. There was nothing wrong with her, but. I wasn't sure there was anything right. She was pretty and sweet and reasonably smart. I knew she was the kind of girl I was supposed to like. She had all the necessary components. Maybe my mom was right. Maybe I was too picky. Why couldn't I feel something for a girl who, on paper, was basically perfect for me?

Hell, even my dad had been giving me crap lately. "You know, son, thirty will be here before you know it. What will you have to show for it?" he said the last time we got together. He went back to watching the game, but I couldn't pay any attention after that.

Why were my parents so desperate to marry me off? The only conclusion I could come to was that it was some kind of statement on their parenting. The badge they would wear to tell the world they had done their job.

It didn't help that I kept getting invitations to all my friends' weddings, or that my mom had caught sight of enough birth announcements coming my way to feel the need to really put the pressure.

Lately, even my friends were getting in on the act.

"Edward, you need luggage," my friend Emmett mused before sinking another solid into the corner pocket. He stood up straight and threw a cocky glance toward Jasper who rolled his eyes.

"Luggage?" I asked.

"Yup."

"Is this another philosophy lesson?" Jasper groaned. "Because I think I need to be a whole lot drunker to listen."

Emmett flipped him off and turned back to me.

"Yes, luggage. You get older and you just can't keep carrying your shit around in your gym duffel or worse yet, a garbage bag anymore. At some point, you've got to buy yourself a nice set of matching luggage."

Jasper looked dumbfounded at this typical Emmetism. "Should he coordinate his shoes and purse too?"

"It's a metaphor, dipshit," Emmett deadpanned. "Luggage means you've got something to put in it. You care about where you're going. You've got something to pack up, something permanent."

"Have you been talking to my mother?"

"Nah, just Rose. She's worried you're going to be an old spinster."

"I'm twenty nine," I protested.

"Well," Jasper said reluctantly. "Alice does say women are leery of men who are bachelors past thirty. Something about being mama's boys."

Emmett nodded in agreement.

I threw my hands up in frustration. "Holy shit, when did you too become old women?" I took the last swig of my beer and stalked off toward the bar, my friends laughing behind me.

The thing is, they made it seem like I didn't really want to settle down. They seemed to think I was a typical guy with commitment phobia. It wasn't true. I would settle down if I found the right woman. I was trying. I dated. I just hadn't felt that spark or whatever. I hadn't found anyone I thought could be the "one."

At least, not in a long time.

_**Bella**_

I stretched one arm high above me. The light filling the room was all the warning I needed. It was inevitable really. Within seconds, my phone began buzzing and ringing across the room. I sighed. My mom was so predictable. Every Saturday morning like clockwork. It didn't matter how many times I yelled at her in college, or how often I refused to answer or even turned off the phone before bed, she insisted weekends were for enjoying life, not lazing about in bed.

I found as I got older, I resented it less. It probably had something to do with the fact that my Friday nights were shorter, and my weekend to do lists were longer.

I popped out of bed and grabbed the phone before it went to voice mail.

"Hi Mom."

"Oh, good you're up. I thought maybe I'd wake you."

I rolled my eyes.

"What's up?" I asked, though I knew there wasn't a specific agenda for the call. It was an invitation to let her tell me all about her week, which she always accepted. It was another thing age had impacted. I found myself actually caring more about some of the things she told me. I used to tune her out completely. I found her life so incredibly boring, and I couldn't understand how she could get so excited about a gardening class or a self help book she read.

But then, I was young and idealistic, and I didn't understand that sometimes the little things did matter most. In those days, I assumed my adult life would be filled with important engagements, not that I knew what they'd be exactly. Peace corps, tutoring at risk kids, museums, book clubs, and an active social life with guys falling all over themselves to date me. It didn't exactly work out like that. Well, I did belong to a book club, but it was just with a few women I worked with, and we were reading whatever Oprah said was good literature. I was, in fact, a tutor at a local elementary school, but that was only once a week for an hour after school, so my phone was ringing off the hook or anything.

"Oh my goodness, I almost forgot," my said. "Didn't you have a date last night?"

I really thought maybe I'd be off the hook. I'd mentioned it in passing last week, and she hadn't seemed to notice. Clearly, she'd just been playing dead. It was easy to see in retrospect that her entire conversation this morning had led her to this moment.

"Yeah," I answered.

"Bella?"

"What?"

"Customarily, one would provide more details than that."

"Not to a parent," I argued though I was holding back a giggle. My relationship with my mom had been more best friend than parent/child for as long as I could remember. I had more details of her dating life than most people would ever want to know about their mother. Frankly, it was more than I wanted, but she'd never had many friends herself, and now that I was in my late twenties, I appreciated our friendship.

"Oh stop torturing your poor old mother! How was it?"

"It was fine."

"That's it?"

"That's it, Mom. I'm not holding anything back. We had dinner and stopped by an art gallery. He dropped me off at ten, and we did not kiss."

"Do you think you'll see him again?"

"I don't know. And before you go pressing, I mean I really don't know. He was nice enough, but I probably wouldn't go out of my way to call him, and I don't really expect him to call me. Conversation just didn't flow that easily, and I think we both felt like the whole thing was a bit forced, you know?"

"It's not like there are always fireworks, dear."

"Are you serious?"

"What?"

"Are you forgetting that I lived with you the majority of my life? Please! You're all about the fireworks!"

"Well . . . " She didn't actually have a rebuttal.

"Besides, what is all this concern with my dating life lately? Whatever happened to the woman who told me not to rush. Boys weren't worth giving up your goals for. Know yourself first, Bella." 'Admittedly, I was getting a little worked up. It seemed everyone, including my mother, was only interested in seeing me paired off lately. When I moved back to Arizona, every time I met someone knew, the first thing they asked was whether or not I was single. Inevitably, they offered to set me up with a friend or a cousin or a son.

"Honey," my mom's tone was more hesitant than I'd ever heard. "Of course I wanted you to grow up strong and smart and sure of yourself. I didn't want you to make the mistakes I did. But Bella, you're not a little girl anymore. Sometimes, I worry you're too independent."

"There's nothing wrong with being alone."

"No, not if you're happy."

"Are you implying that I'm not?"

"We all want love."

"But I'm not going to try to force love where it doesn't exist."

"I'm not saying you should, but be careful you don't miss it."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. "

She exhaled. "It's been seven years. He's not coming back."

I felt every muscle tense, and I gripped the phone tightly. "I know that. I'm not expecting him to."

"Sweetie, I know you're going to be mad at me for saying this, but I've been holding my tongue for so long. You won't fall in love with someone else when you can't let go of an ideal that doesn't even exist."

She was wrong. I wasn't mad. I was sucker punched. I couldn't breathe or think or talk.

"Gotta go, okay?" I squeaked.

"I'm sorry. I love you."

"Love you too."

It was only after she hung up that I realized she never had to say his name. There was only one person I'd ever felt that way about, and only my mother knew what kind of impact he'd had on me.

I wanted to be mad at her. I wanted to tell her she was wrong.

But I'd never been good at lying to my mother.

The fact was I'd never met a man who could hold a candle to Edward Cullen, and I was pretty doubtful I ever would.

_**Edward**_

So for all the wrong reasons, I continued seeing Jessica Stanley. We went to the jazz club. We strolled through an art museum. We saw several movies.

She kept hinting at 'just hanging out' at her place or mine. She offered to make me dinner. It had been over a month, and I knew it was time to move forward, but I dreaded it. I didn't know if it would lead to sex or just fooling around, but this was clearly the next step. Goodbye kisses wouldn't cut it anymore. I brooded around for a few days before the planned event.

At the gym, Emmett told me he was tired of the moping and to "knock it the fuck off." I explained my dilemma. He said, "You're getting depressed about getting laid? What the hell is wrong with you?"

I had to admit. He had a point.

So fine, I had to get over myself. I bought the wine and the flowers. I put new condoms in my wallet.

I psyched myself up. I liked Jess. My mom would like Jess. I struck the last thought because it would not help get me in the mood. I was almost optimistic when I got to her place. She opened the door, and she looked nice. Not overdone. Cute.

She was excited. She talked a little too fast, and she kept fidgeting. She made pot roast, which was good. It was the kind of meal meant to make me feel comfortable, but it didn't because she kept apologizing for not making something fancier.

The problem really came during dessert. The apple pie was good. Her grandma's recipe she said. She kept talking about her family and her job, and my eyelids grew heavier. Every once in a while I had to force myself to pop them open just to make sure I didn't fall asleep on her. I stifled a yawn. I chewed harder.

Suddenly, I had this flash. Us. Ten years in the future. Two kids around the dinner table. I looked fucking miserable. My drooping eyelids were only the beginning. My whole face had fallen. I looked like a guy who would have more fun with ice picks being driven into his skull.

I snapped out of it and sat up straighter. I didn't want a future like that. I'd seen people with that expression in real life, and I'd resolved to stay as far away from it as possible.

"So did you want to move to the couch?"

"Uh, sure," I answered.

She pressed a button on her stereo, and soft, unobtrusive notes filled the room. I sat down on the far edge of the couch.

"Are you okay?" she asked, noticing my discomfort.

"I think so," I said, processing how I could work this in my favor.

"You look really tired. I thought I was going to lose you during dinner. Rough week?"

"I guess so."

"Well, come here," she said sitting down next to me. "I can rub your neck or something."

I wasn't sure about the or something. And I felt like a complete pansy. What kind of man turns down sex? She clearly wanted me. The problem was she wanted more than just sex, and I'd led her to believe that we had it. This was not a random hook up or even a friends with benefits situation. She saw us going somewhere.

Her tiny fingers pressed into my shoulders. "Does that feel okay?"

"Yeah, it's good," I croaked.

"You sure you're okay?"

That was it. The final invitation. I wasn't okay. This wasn't okay. I wanted more than this. Something better. I wasn't too picky or too quick to judge. I knew what a spark felt like it dammit, and I didn't feel like settling. Just because I only felt it once, and it had been years, didn't mean I couldn't feel it again did it?

"You know, I'm not feeling so great."

"Really?" The disappointment was apparent in her voice, and when I turned to see her face I felt like complete crap. How could I be so stupid?

"I'm not sure what's up, but you're right, I'm having a hard time staying awake."

She looked down at her lap and very very slowly she said. "We could go lie down in my bed."

Honest to god, I made myself sick. I wanted to give her everything she expected, but I wouldn't be able to live with myself.

"Crap, Jess. I don't think I can. I'm really sorry."

In that instant, I got the feeling Jess was used to hearing words like that. She sighed, and answered almost as if she'd expected it. "Yeah, I know."

I reached out to touch her face. She sighed.

"I think I should get home in case I'm coming down with something."

She nodded, dejected. "You'll call me if you need anything?"

"Sure."

I didn't call for days. She left a message. She emailed. I responded and told her I'd been too sick to talk. Then, I was too busy with work to get together. I had a family function. I had to go on a business trip. Two weeks later, I finally said what she probably knew was coming. It came down to the "it's not you, it's me" speech. She put up a brave front, but her voice was shaky as she told me she understood.

I didn't like myself very much.

Then I went out with Emmett and Jasper to get over feeling like a dickhead.

Neither of them said anything when I told them I'd ended it. They sat there with expression on their faces that told me they most definitely did not approve.

"Damn , that was . . ." Emmett started.

Jasper interjected. "Rough, huh?"

Emmett ignored the hint Jasper was trying to give. "I mean couldn't you at least have . . . "

I couldn't take whatever he might say. "I get it. It was shitty. Please just don't rub it in."

There was a long pause while we each distracted ourselves with our drinks.

"Well, the right one must be out there somewhere," Jasper assured me.

"Whatever happened to that one girl?" Emmett asked.

It was an innocent statement. Probably meant very little to him, but I couldn't breathe. Of course she was on my mind. I tried very hard not to picture her or to say her name. If I did that, then the memory would be real, and I'd have to admit the real reason why none of these girls worked. How could there be a spark when you were still in love with someone else?

Not that I would admit it.

So I held onto my glass a little tighter, and let my thumb draw a circle in the condensation at the side.

"What girl?" I responded nonchalantly.

"You know. That one in college?" Emmett was the best friend a guy could have, but that day, he was really pissing me off.

I shook my head and shrugged.

"Come on, the one you couldn't stop talking about." He turned to Jasper for back up. "You remember right? He said she was special."

Jasper looked at me for a second, assessing his answer. "Not sure, man," he said finally.

"I'm trying to remember her name." Emmet scrunched his face as he thought about it. _Please don't remember._

"Well if all we're going to do talk about my failures, I'm probably going to head home," I announced in an effort to divert him.

"No need, I think the topic is over, right, Em?" Jasper said.

"Why can't I remember her name?" Emmett was still concentrating. He began mumbling to himself. "I can almost see her face, and I think it starts with a B."

"Hey Emmett, broken record. Move on." Jasper's tone was more definitive.

Emmett met his eyes, and then followed them as they turned to me. "Oh yeah, never mind."

Whatever they saw must have been enough to make them realize I couldn't handle anymore discussion of the woman whose name began with B.

But Emmett started something. All the time I'd spent trying to avoid her name, her face, her laugh, her skin. It was all for naught because of one stupid question. "_What ever happened to that one girl_?"

When I got home, I plopped down on the couch and propped my feet up on the coffee table. I surfed mindlessly, hoping something would pull me out of my head. It was no good. She'd filled it.

Whatever happened to her?

I didn't know exactly. I mean, I knew the part where I fucked the whole thing up, but I didn't know what happened after that. I'd thought about her. I'd wondered where she ended up, but I'd never made the effort to find out. I hadn't exactly left the door open for communication.

Work dragged the next day.

It wasn't intentional. Honestly, I didn't plan it out. I was just sitting there staring at the screen, my blinking cursor acting as a beacon. The B was the hardest letter. The rest flowed quickly.

Bella Swan.

There, I'd done it. Her name was out there.

"Bella Swan," I whispered acknowledging for the first time in about seven years that she was real.

I hit enter in the search engine. Not much came up. Mostly things about beauty. There was a reference to an old article she wrote for the college newspaper.

Stupid. It was stupid. What was I expecting?

I closed the browser, shook my head, and opened a file on my desk.

I didn't get past the first page before a light bulb went off. I quickly pulled Google up on my screen again and typed, "Isabella Swan."

The first result wasn't much better. Apparently, she'd won an award for paper she wrote in grad school. I kept scrolling until I saw the work, "Dr." in front of her name. She'd done it. She got her doctorate. I smiled. I was proud of her, though I had no right to be. I clicked the link.

She was a literature professor at a small college I'd never heard of. The page didn't have a picture. Just her name, office location, phone number, and email address. I let my gaze fall to the bottom of the page, where the address line revealed a location. Arizona.

Again, although I would deny thinking about her, I would have figured she was still living with her mom in Florida. I sat back in my chair. She was still so far away.

In seven years, I was sure she had changed. Heaven knows I had. I grew up and gained perspective. I understood so many things I couldn't grasp back then. I looked different too. Not night and day, but things had shifted. Time had begun to make its mark around the corners of my eyes. I wondered how she'd changed. Was her hair still long? Was she still so thin that if she sat on my lap, there would be no cushion? Did she still raise one eyebrow when someone said something she disagreed with or thought sounded stupid?

My right hand glided up to my mouse, and without thinking, I clicked on the link to her email. My heart started beating a little faster. What would I say? How could I possibly explain or justify my reason for writing? She'd likely delete it before she read it, so what would be the point?

She'd moved on. Hell, she was probably married. She might have kids like Jasper or be getting ready to give it the old college try like Emmett. I swallowed hard, wondering what kind of man she was with, who might have been the one to give himself to her. A man far smarter than I.

I argued with myself. Back and forth.

_But you're not married. Maybe she's not. _

But I'm a commitmentphobe.

_No, you're just waiting for the right one._ _She might be too_.

She probably hates me.

_She loved you_.

Not anymore.

_Can you really live with yourself if you don't make sure she's okay_?

I wasn't expecting that one, but it was the most persuasive. She might not answer. I wouldn't expect her to, but at least I could say I'd tried.

Bella,

This is Edward Cullen. I don't know if you remember me. I know this email is really out of the blue. Your name came up in a conversation yesterday, and on a whim I decided to look you up, just to see how you were doing. I know I'm probably not your favorite person, but I wanted you to know that despite everything that happened, I really cared about you. I considered you a great friend, and I would love to talk to you again. If you don't write back, I'd understand. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to try.

For what it's worth, I'm very sorry.

Yours,

Edward

The wording was calculated. I needed to admit fault, but I also had to guard my intentions. It was about looking up an old friend, not checking in on the woman who 'd become my prototype, the one no other had ever been able to match.

My finger rested on the mouse button for a long time. I kept telling myself it was a terrible idea. I thought I should just save the draft and if I still wanted to contact her, I could do it the next day. Sleep on it, so to speak. My ringing phone startled me. I felt my decision making go into overdrive. I stalled but the ringing seemed to grow louder. I just clicked. I didn't think. I didn't even see if I actually hit the right button. I picked up the phone, but before I even talked I checked sent items. It was there.

I had just emailed Bella Swan.

_**Bella**_

I allowed myself twenty minutes to sit directly in the sun every day. When it wasn't too hot, and I didn't have a meeting, my preferences was to take advantage of that time during lunch. I would sit on the bench outside my office building with some carrot sticks or a container of yogurt. I never took my grading or my laptop. The whole point was basically to worship the sun. It was a ritual I started when I first moved from Washington to Florida after college. Too many years of a dismal gray and depressing rain made me vow never again to take the sun for granted. The food was mostly way to keep people away. I used the food and a book propped open on my lap as a sign to others warning them to "keep out." This was my time.

For seven years, I'd been able to find peace in those twenty minutes. I could shut down to do lists, asshole colleagues, looming bills, and even my mother's crazy ideas. During that time, I didn't think or process. I could just be. I listened to birds when they were around. I noticed the different sounds various shoes made on the concrete.

Ever since my conversation with my mother though, I lost my zen. No matter how many times I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, I couldn't clear the noise in my head. Noise was the perfect name for it too, but it was all just random thoughts and memories. They were loud and sporadic, and I couldn't find any real meaning to them.

I thought about all kinds of things. My dad and how much I missed him. I'd been putting off a trip to the Pacific Northwest for a while. He didn't put too much pressure on, but I knew it would mean a lot to him.

I thought about the ridiculous papers I had to grade and the stupid committee meeting that would take too long and accomplish very little.

Mostly though, I thought about Edward.

I'd never really stopped thinking about him, but this was different. I wasn't thinking about the end. The awful, terrible, surprising, miserable end. I was thinking about the middle. It was the best part, like the filling in a jelly donut.

"What's this?" I was about to slide into the booth across from him when I noticed a bag sitting there.

He shrugged.

"What did you do?"

"It's nothing."

"Is it a present?"

"Not really."

I huffed. He knew how I felt about gifts. We hadn't been together long enough to deal with a major event like a birthday or Christmas, but I'd made it very clear that presents were simply not my thing.

"Are you going to open it?'

"No," I said, opening my menu. I trained my eyes on the lists of sandwiches and salads, trying very hard not to give him the satisfaction of admitting my curiosity.

"Fine, hand it to me then."

"Why?"

"If you don't want it, I'll take it back."

My face scrunched involuntarily. "I thought it was for me."

"But you clearly don't want it."

He was smiling, so sure I wouldn't do it. So, I picked up the bag and threw it at him. He never stopped smiling. It was like he just knew he'd won even though I was sure I had.

Four days later, I found the stupid flipping bag stuffed in my dresser drawer when I packed for the move. I almost left it behind at that point because I was too confused, but in the end, I couldn't help tossing it in a box. I didn't open it for about six months. By then things were completely over, and one night I just couldn't take it anymore.

It was a U dub sweatshirt. Perfectly well worn but not faded or stained. Comfortable and freshly washed. It smelled like Edward. I could make out his laundry detergent, a hint of the candle he sometimes burned to cover up the "guy smell" his mom teased him about, and even traces of his cologne.

I've had the sweatshirt all this time, You see despite the ending which had caught me completely off guard, it was the middle I'd been holding on to all this time. The way he knew me better than anyone had. The way he surprised me more than I expected. The easy nature of our relationship. It shouldn't have worked, but it did. So my mom was right. I hadn't let go because I wanted that again, and she could talk all she wanted about relationships not being like that, but I'd had it. I knew what it could be, and it was usually clear within about twenty minutes of a first date, that it wasn't going to be like that again.

I lifted my face back up to the sun, hoping the heat would burn away all the jumbled thoughts in my head. I took a deep breath, and shook my head.

No, Edward wasn't coming back, and it wasn't so much him I was holding out for. It was the hope he represented. At least that was what allowed me to put a smile on my face and head back to my office that afternoon. That's the thought that forced me to get up every day and face the world, but if I really believed I'd lost my one true love, I'm not sure I could do any of it.

I tried to avoid checking my work email at night. No good ever came of it. Usually whatever I read only got me so worked up I couldn't sleep or added more to my to-do list than I cared to deal with.

That night, I was doing research for an article I was writing, and I happened to be on my computer. I happened to be hovering around the campus site as I virtually searched databases from the library. I don't even think it was really a decision to check my email. It was more of a habit I suppose. Open one window, type in a phrase, hit search, while I'm waiting open another window, log into email, flip back to original screen and begin sifting through data. After a couple of minutes of sifting through useless research and pompous arguments, I closed out having completely forgotten about the open email window lurking behind.

The subject title was, "Greetings from an old friend."

I figured it was spam. I moved my curser on the trash icon, but that's when I noticed the sender's emails address. My hand froze. I froze. It didn't believe it was possible. It had to be some kind of cruel joke the universe was playing on me. Spam from an "ecullen?" What were the odds of that?

Logic told me the odds weren't good, but I figured the likelihood that it was the ecullen were just as bad. Curiosity made me open the email.

I read it once, closed out of email, and stared, stunned, at the screen.

Shaking my head, I pulled my email back up and read it again. And again.

I went into some kind of trance, I think.

I shut down my computer, washed my face, brushed my teeth, shut out the lights, and got into bed. My brain refused to process what I had just read. I actually slept soundly. When I got up, it was as if nothing had happen. The email had been relegated to the recesses of my subconscious. I had a very productive day at work. I even had drinks with colleagues, all the while not once thinking about the message or Edward.

Even in my own mind, I was fine, completely unaffected.

When I got home, I hopped in the shower to rinse off the bar grime. With the towel wrapped around me, I walked over to my dresser. I swear, it was all done in some kind of zombie trance. I dug to the bottom of the drawer. I didn't even bother with neatness.

Once I found what I'd been looking for, I dropped the towel and slid it over my head. It was too hot for Arizona, but I didn't care. I wrapped my arms around myself to feel the cotton even closer to my skin. It had always been too big, but that made it more special. I let my head drop to my shoulder, bringing my nose in contact with the fabric. I inhaled deeply, letting the air travel deep into my lungs, imagining it making an intoxicating path through my whole body.

I've never washed it. I never wanted it to lose any hint of his scent. It's become something of a security blanket for me. I put it on whenever I have a particularly bad day. The shirt and thoughts of him still made me happy or something close to it anyway.

I moved purposefully to my walk in closet. On the shelf in the right hand corner sandwiched between a yellow milk crate filled with old shoes and a file box of college English papers, was a clear plastic bin. I pulled out a small stool, and used it to reach the top shelf. I pulled gently so the bin was teetering on the edge of the shelf; then I gripped the sides and carried it to the floor.

There were various things in the bin. A couple of photo albums from high school and from trips I took with my dad. Programs from prom and graduations, several tassels from my various alma matters. The small box within the box was at the bottom. I hid it there in an effort to forget it existed.

I lifted the lid off gently, as if I were afraid that I was about to set off a bomb. I closed my eyes, prolonging the moment when I would look into his eyes. There weren't many mementos as we were together less than six months. A handful of pictures, a postcard he sent when we went on a trip with his brother, a napkin where he'd written "I love you" for the first time. He'd written it while I was in the bathroom, and when I came back to the table, he pushed it across the table toward me.

I looked up at him with one eyebrow raised.

He was grinning like a chessire cat.

"Seriously?"

"Mm hmm," he responded.

"I don't mean what it said. I already knew that. I mean, on a napkin? You just hand this to me?" My tone was light hearted enough that he didn't seem put off by my chastising.

"You'll never forget it though right? You have proof that you'll always have with you."

"Who knew you were such a sap?"

"Either that or a chicken shit," he admitted.

I threw my napkin at him. "Don't worry, there's nothing on it. I prefer the more personal route when I express my emotions."

"Oh? Any emotions you want to express now?"

"Well, I'm hungry. Does that count?" I grabbed a roll from the basket and bit into it in the least ladylike way. The bite was too big, and I over emphasized my chewing.

"Not in the least." He rested his chin on his hand and just watched me, chuckling the whole time.

The subject was dropped.

Later though, we were settled into my couch. I'd changed into sweats and pulled my hair back. My feet were on his lap, and he was rubbing circles into my heels.

"I love you, Edward," I said matter of factly.

I felt his fingers stop moving. I saw his eyes closes for a second, and a breath escape him. When he whispered, "Whew," I knew it was one of relief.

"Made you nervous huh?"

"A little."

"I still think the napkin was a copout."

"I know, but I got you to say it first, didn't I?"

I made a motion with my foot like I was going to kick him where it counted. He moved quicker, and he was stronger, springing from his spot until he was lying on top of me, effectively pinning me to the couch.

His eyes confirmed it. His kisses proved it. The way he responded to my touch made it more obvious. I didn't need to hear the words out loud, but I admit that night, when leaned he down and whispered, "I love you, Bella," it made me giddy.

We made love that night, and it wasn't because he said the words, though I liked that a lot. It was because I'd never felt closer to anyone in my life. When he touched me, my body seemed to know how to react without any of the typical coaxing I was used to. His lips on mine were soft but so powerful my stomach got all twisted up like I'd just made it to the top of a roller coaster and was teetering on the edge, ready to take the free fall.

The fall over the edge had never been so easy and never would be again. Love was always something I had to think about, analyze, try to understand why. I didn't with him, at least not until long after.

In fits of rage, I tried to figure out if it was all just an illusion, if I'd made the whole thing up in my head, and it was really no different. Had he just told me he loved me to get into my pants that night? Did I only love him because he was interested in me?

That was the thing though. Every instinct in me said no.

The napkin had seen better days, and the words were fading. I hugged the box closer to me, and I did something I hadn't done in years.

I cried thinking of Edward Cullen. I let the memories and the hurt and lost possibilities take over, and I gave in, turning into a heaving ball of sobs and snot and whimpers.

Eventually, no more tears came, so I put the lid on the box, and carefully slid it back into place. I replaced the sweatshirt with my robe, and I crawled under the covers wishing I could fall back into my earlier numbness, wanting to will the whole thing away.

_**Edward**_

For the next couple of days, I was a little obsessive. I hit send and receive every five minutes. I checked my email on my phone at stoplights. I stopped shutting down my home and office computers so I wouldn't have to wait for them to warm up.

Though I thought it unlikely, I still hoped she would respond . I just wasn't sure how I'd feel about anything she might say. I wanted her to be happy, but if she were, where would that leave me? Damn. I was better off before. If I didn't think about her, I could pretend someday I'd find someone almost good enough, and it would all be fine.

After four days, my hope began to fade.

After a week, I admitted defeat. If she were going to respond, she would have by then.

I put my mind in lock down mode. No more thinking of her. No more remembering the way her hair swayed when she walked or how her nose crinkled when she smelled smoke. Absolutely no more thoughts about the intense expression on her face as she listened to me tell a story or the amazing way she always got to the truth of a matter within minutes.

That was it. I was done. I had to be.

I meant to be anyway. A couple of weeks later, I was back to living in monotony. I hadn't called Jess, and I told my mother no way when she told me a friend had a daughter . . .

But my brain didn't seem to get the memo, because I couldn't stop thinking about her. I even looked her up on Facebook. I didn't have the balls to "friend" her, but what little information was public told me two things: Bella was single and her taste in music had improved. Neither of those revelations helped me with my obsession.

"What are you going to do man?" Jasper asked when I told him what was going on.

"I honestly don't know. I mean clearly she doesn't want to talk to me."

"You're sure you ended it that bad?"

"I'm sure."

"You really liked her huh?"

"Yeah, but I don't even think I knew how much at the time. I was young and stupid, and I had no idea that kind of relationship doesn't come around every five minutes."

"Why didn't you ever try to get a hold of her after you figured it out?"

"I figured there was too much water under the bridge, and it still didn't solve one of the fundamental problems. She was there, and I was here. At the time, that seemed like a much bigger deal than it is now."

"I don't know, Edward, but I kind of think you have to keep trying. Email her again or call her. The worst that can happen is she hangs up, right?"

I wasn't convinced that was the worst of it, but I could see his point.

"Maybe though, you need to figure out what you want from her first."

That was the problem. I was holding on to an ideal I couldn't be sure still existed. I didn't even know what would be possible between us even if she could forgive me. If she didn't want to talk to me, what options did I have?

I needed the answer to that fundamental question. I rolled the dice. I Facebook messaged her.

Dear Bella,

I sent you an email, but I'm not sure you got it. Maybe you decided not to respond to it, and that's fine. I'm not planning to keep bothering you if you don't want to hear from me. I just wanted to make sure you received it. I would love to know how you are, maybe even be friends again. I guess if you don't respond to this message, I'll know to leave you alone.

Edward

_**Bella**_

The first three drafts of my response were bitter and angry. For a couple of days, I raged. I yelled at the idiots on the road, and I stood in front of my mirror spitting out all the things I'd always wanted to say to Edward and never got the chance.

I told him he was a coward and a liar, and he had no right to try to contact me now after all this time.

The next few attempts were whiney and depressing. I told him how much he hurt me and how his actions had stifled all of the relationships I attempted to have after him.

Then I moved on to the matter of fact. "Hi, I'm fine. Glad to hear from you. I'm busy with work." Blah, blah blah.

In all, I think I twenty three different emails.

Thankfully, I never sent any of those messages. I saved each one, and by morning, I couldn't bring myself to say all those things to him.

I tried to imagine what advice I would give to a friend of mine who might have a similar problem.

I knew I would take a hard line. I would tell her she shouldn't even consider writing this yahoo back. If a guy treats you like that, he's dead weight. So what if he realized too late that he'd missed out on a good thing. So what if you think he was so great. Obviously, he couldn't have been if he turned out to be such an ass.

We didn't make it to our six month anniversary, so it's not like I had expectations that we were headed for happily ever after. It's just that everything was so good. There wasn't a single moment in those nearly six months that I questioned our relationship or how he felt about me, which was odd because that had always been my M.O. before. I always believed a guy must be with me for some ulterior motive.

He knew I was moving to Florida for grad school from the night we met. I didn't spring it on him or anything, so I guess it caught me off guard when that was the reason he gave for the break up.

"Oh, sure, yeah, long distance sucks," I responded without looking him in the eye.

"We can still be friends," he'd insisted, but I couldn't imagine how I could be just friends with a man I loved that much.

I asked him for coffee about a week before I moved. The whole time I sat next to him, I was willing him to take my hand, to admit his mistake, but he never did.

Desperately, when it came time to say goodbye, I hugged him. His body felt stiff, but still, before I pulled away from the connection I kissed him. He responded, but it was awkward and uncomfortable, not the easy passion we'd known before.

I started calling him about once a month. We fell back into conversation easily, but there was always an unspoken tension. What did our friendship entail? Mistakenly, I took that tension to mean that he still wanted me but didn't know how to say it.

"Why do you do this?" he asked me.

"Do what?"

"Why are you calling?" His tone, a bite that would leave a mark.

"To talk," I said it simply and gave no further justification.

"Bella, I thought we weren't going to do this anymore."

I was genuinely confused despite all the signs he'd sent me.

"You said we'd still be friends."

"God, that's just something you say when you want to let someone down easy. Everyone knows that."

"Oh, I see." I tried to maintain just enough composure not to give away my disappointment. "I just thought it was different. I'm sorry I misunderstood."

That was the last time I called.

I wanted to hate him. I wanted to wash my hands of him.

Looking back on it now, I realized in some ways, I was to blame too. Yeah, what he did was wrong, but I let him. I gave up. I assumed I wasn't good enough for him and that it was natural for him to pull away. I hadn't given either of us enough credit.

Why hadn't I pushed him? One of the things I'd loved most about him was that he didn't let me get away with anything. He pushed buttons. He accepted me exactly as I was and never expected me to change. He understood me perhaps better than I knew myself at times, and he got that I liked to be challenged. Could I have called him out? Not accepted the end so easily? Why had I just rolled over and played dead? I wasn't going to let him off the hook, but I also knew that I'd had my own issues to deal with as well.

I wasn't in a place to admit any of this to him either. My own emotions were still too conflicted. It was all so confusing. His email claimed he wanted friendship; I didn't trust myself not to want more. What would it do to me to put myself out there with him and be hurt again? What would it do to me if I ignored his email, if I willingly turned my back on him?

The Facebook message came as an early morning wake up call. Something I needed, but had no desire to face. He was pushing just liked I'd hoped he would—gently, but still a reminder that he was there. I didn't have any answers yet, but if I said nothing, I risked him deciding to give up.

It was a gamble I wasn't willing to take.

Edward,

I'm here. I'm listening. I'm not ready to talk yet.

Bella

I hoped it would be enough.

Xxx

It was a stupid idea.

With each step, I got more nervous. It was weird; I was used to pressure, but this was different. I literally felt like I was being crushed. I glanced down at the campus map in my hand where I'd scribbled her office number down. I looked back up at the shut door in front of me. A small brown placard on the side of the door told me I was in the right place.

I knocked, and no one answered. I looked around, but there was no schedule and no one lingering around to ask.

I just kind of freaked out. What the hell was I doing? She sent me a vague message back on Facebook, so a few days later I hopped on a plane and showed up at her office. She was going to think I was crazy. I probably was. So, her not being at her office must have been a sign. I figured it wasn't meant to be. It was dumb because it wasn't like I was in a hurry to be anywhere, but it just didn't make sense anymore. I gave a ridiculous goodbye wave to her office and turned in a rush toward the door to the building.

It was like a scene in a movie. I walked out one door. She walked in the other. A quick glance, then a moment of recognition. We both turned around and stared at each other through the glass. Neither of us made a move toward the other.

My whole body ached to reach out to her. She looked so damn good. The years had given her a few pounds on her hips, creating the perfect curve. Her hair was shorter, falling at her shoulders. Otherwise, she was the same. Perfectly, the same. Except for the expression of terror on her face.

Her mouth agape, her eyes confused.

"Hi," I whispered. She couldn't hear me, but I figured she'd be able to read my lips. She didn't mouth anything, but her face contorted into a grimace, and she turned and walked away. More like a march actually.

My feet were cemented in place. I assumed I should leave. If I was looking to know how she felt, that pretty much said it. I should let her be. Somehow though, I couldn't. I'd come too far, risked too much of my dignity. Turning around now would make me a damn pansy. Plus, in that thirty second stare, I felt more of a spark than I had in weeks of dating Jess. I'd seen a future filled with passion and laughter and quiet moments on the couch. I saw unconditional love perfectly matched with friendship. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but I was sure as hell going to throw my penny in the well.

I walked slowly. I was still trying to figure out my angle. What would I say to her? Would she even let me in? I hadn't figured it out by the time I reached her office. The door was open, and she sat in her chair, expecting me.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. It was the first time I'd heard her voice in seven years, and I nearly ran in to hug her.

"I don't know."

She shook her head. "I thought you said we weren't doing this anymore."

My own words, when thrown back at me, were like a punch to the gut, doubling me over. I waited for the final blow to come. I deserved it. God, I was an idiot.

I'd met her at a bar. How cliché is that? I practically ran into her when she was carrying a couple of beers to her friends. Neither of us could quite take our eyes off each other all night, but we didn't speak until last call. As she waited for the bartender, I sidled up next to her.

"Hey, we meet again," I said. What a fucking stupid first line.

"Took you long enough," she responded. Then she winked at me.

"Better late than never?" I shrugged.

She grabbed a pen from the counter, and wrote her number on my forearm. "You better be faster when it comes to the phone call."

I should have walked away when I found out she was moving. She'd been planning on grad school for years, and she was so excited to head back to warmer, sunnier weather. I pretended not to be bothered, but I was scared shitless. It was only a few months, but they were good ones. Really good. We made love on week eight. Too soon or not soon enough, I'm not sure. In the end, it would be fair to say I ran away. It was all just too much for me. I couldn't do long distance. We hadn't known each other long. It couldn't work. Besides, I was still playing the field. I was just graduating from college myself. I'd lined up my first job. I was going to have cash and youth on my side. I had no intention of wasting it.

It was all bullshit. It came down to one thing. I was just plain scared. I broke up with her. She seemed to understand.

When we got together the week before she left, the whole time we were together, I wanted to pull her into my lap and slip my hands up her back. Just friends my ass. I wanted this woman like I'd never wanted anyone before. But I'd set up the rules.

There were plenty of times I picked up the phone to call, but I knew I'd just get sucked back in. Still, whenever she called, I couldn't help but pretend for a few minutes, even an hour, that we could do this. The problem was every time she called, I thought about her for days after, and it got harder and harder to wait for the next.

After about six months, it was too weird. I was dating some girl who didn't like the occasional phone calls from Bella, and the reality was, I liked them too much. One night, she called when I was good and buzzed.

I let the beer say things I didn't exactly mean.

Another six months later, I was single again, and lonely. I tried calling, but her number was no longer in service.

So based on my actions, I expected a knock out. After the stinging line, I thought she would go on a tirade, tell me how angry she was. Mock me for showing up despite her telling me she wasn't ready to talk. She didn't. When I finally peeled my eyes off the floor, I realized she was still sitting there, just waiting.

"Are you going to say anything?" she asked.

I began nodding before any words escaped.

"I'm so sorry, Bella. Maybe it was wrong of me to come." Something flashed in her eyes, it almost looked like disappointment. "But I had to. You have every right to hate me. I was so stupid, and I shut you off without any valid reason. You weren't wrong before. We were different. I don't have any excuses or any justifications. I was young and dumb, and I didn't know what to do with something so powerful. I didn't know that what we had was special, that I would never again feel anything close to what I did for you. Just seeing you brings it all back. I did love you. I really did. I don't expect you to say anything. I don't expect anything at all. I came for more than one reason. The first was that I had to apologize. It's selfish, I know, but I needed you to hear how important you were to me, or I knew I could never move on. The other, well, that's more complicated. I don't know how your life is. I don't know if you could ever forgive me, but I would very much like to be friends again. You don't have to say anything now, but if you had some time, I would love to take you for coffee. No pressure. Just a chance to catch up, and then if you want me to leave and never email you again, I will."

When I stopped to take a breath, I looked at her face hoping to find a reaction in her eyes. Her mouth remained open a little, and her thinking crinkle was forming.

"I have a meeting in five minutes. I'll be done in an hour. There's coffee shop down the street. You can meet me there." She turned to scribble down the name of the coffee shop and street. I took it from her reverently.

XXXX

He'd picked a couch in the corner, where he sat on the end, close to an adjacent chair. It gave me options. I thought about the chair, but I opted for the direct route, and I plopped down next to him on the couch, but I turned at an angle and propped a leg underneath me, giving me just enough distance to keep my bearing.

"Thank you for coming," he started, but I held a hand up.

"I-the thing is . . ." I couldn't look into his eyes and remember what I was going to say so I stared at my lap. "I'm not mad at you. I don't know that anger was ever really what I felt. You see all this time, I was mad at myself. I honestly thought I'd misunderstood the whole thing. The things you said hurt like crazy, Edward. You broke my heart. You need to know that."

"I really am sorry," he said.

"That's just it. I can tell you mean it, or I wouldn't be here. I wasn't sure from the first email. It was pretty overwhelming when it arrived, and I didn't know how to take it, so I just kept putting it off. It was different when I saw you in person though. I never saw you look so humble."

"Age gives you perspective."

"That it does."

There was a period of silence in which we sort of contemplated each other.

"So," he said breaking it, "How are you?"

I took a breath. "I'm well, thank you."

"How long have you been back in Arizona."

"About a year and a half. English professors have a tough market. I probably would have gone anywhere I got an offer, but I was pretty happy to come back."

"Is your mom still in Florida?"

"They're still moving around a lot, but I expect when Phil's career finally fizzles out, they'll come down here too."

"Do you get back to Washington much?" I swear there was a hopeful tone to his voice.

"Not a lot, no. Once a year or so. How about you?"

"I'm still in Seattle. I'm actually with the same company—just a bigger office."

I smiled in response.

"So, you live here alone?" he asked. It was a pregnant question.

"I do." I wasn't sure whether to follow up, to clarify my meaning. "It's just, well, you left some mighty big shoes to fill."

He looked confused, and I started laughing. "Not that you were perfect, you were pretty much a shit in the end, but the good parts were so good it's been hard for anyone else to measure up."

"I know what you mean. It was something else."

Instinctively, I reached out and grabbed his hand. We both reacted in shock, the feel of the other person setting off something maybe we weren't ready for. My eyes went wide, and I nearly pulled my hand back, but he didn't let me. He squeezed back and placed his other hand on top. I closed my eyes to hold back the tears. He looked like he wanted to talk, but I shook my head.

"No, It's okay. Really. I'm good."

We sat like that for hours, going through three cups of coffee and a couple of scones. Conversation was easy. Being with him was easy. It felt the same and better than I could have imagined.

"So, you really thought about me?" I asked pointedly.

"Yes, I really did."

"Me too," I said. "A whole lot more than I wanted to, that's for sure. I tried very hard to get you out of mind."

"It's selfish of me, but I guess I'm kind of glad it didn't work."

"You know, to this day, I cannot eat meatloaf without thinking of you." I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face.

"Oh, low blow! I tried so hard on that meal. I'd never cooked anything like that before."

"Doing better since?" I asked sheepishly.

"It was really bad wasn't it?"

"Um, pretty much." I started giggling, and I couldn't stop it. It grew louder, and eventually, he joined me. "I had to use a steak knife to cut it," I said while gasping. "I think I used a half a bottle of ketchup on one tiny piece."

"Okay fine then. You laugh at my meatloaf. How about if I tell you I see your face every time I see a man wearing a pink shirt?"

My hand flew to my mouth. "Oh my god. You're not still on that are you? I told you I didn't know my red socks were mixed in."

"You offered to do my laundry, and half my wardrobe ended up pink. You tried to tell me it looked good on me."

"Well, real men do wear pink, you know."

"I missed this so much," he said suddenly.

I raised my eyebrow at him, and an odd satisfied smile appeared.

"You. This. It's so comfortable," he said.

"It is."

"I can't believe you aren't yelling at me."

"Oh well, I got it out of my system before you got here. After your email came, I cried. And then I spent a couple of days screaming at you."

"I'm sorry."

"I know." I took a deep breath. "I forgive you."

I resented time for moving forward too quickly.

"You keep look looking at the clock. Do you need to go?" I wondered.

"Probably, but I don't want to."

"I know," I whispered.

"So, what's next?" he asked.

"We're still a long way apart."

"Maybe it's not so far after all. We're a lot closer than it seemed a few days ago."

It was true. I didn't care about the distance. If we were worth it, then the rest would fall into place.

He walked me to my car, and I found that unknowingly, I'd parked next to his rental. We stood there, facing each other for a few minutes.

"Thanks," I finally said.

"Thank you," he replied. Then he reached out and grabbed my hand. "I want it to be different this time," he said. "I don't know what the future holds. I don't know what's possible for us, but I know I can be a better friend."

God, I was stupid. I thought back to his email. There it was again. Friend. He wanted to be friends. I couldn't handle letting him see my disappointment, so I looked down at my shoes and said, "I think maybe I misunderstood. I thought … I don't know . . . I just …"

I felt a hand at my chin, pulling my head up until I had no choice to look at him.

"Hey," he said. "Me too." Then he nodded, as if answering my silent questioning of whether he really meant it.

We both took a step forward at the same time. This hug wasn't awkward like the last time. In fact, it felt a heck of a lot closer to hello than goodbye.

"God, I want to kiss you," he whispered into my hair.

Without thinking, I answered, "What's stopping you?"

His head jerked back. Our faces were nearly touching. "You sure?"

I nodded.

Our lips seemed to know we were meant to be together. We came together effortlessly, and I moaned when we split apart. He chuckled a little.

We were leaning against his rental. I went to stand up straight, and I saw an old gray bag perched on the back seat. "You still have that old duffel bag, huh?"

"Oh well, yeah. It's pretty old. I've been thinking about getting a new set of luggage."

"It's probably time."

"Actually, it's long overdue."

"You know, my suitcase is pretty outdated too. Maybe we could go shopping together."

Somehow, as we stood across from each other, we both understood that this wasn't about a duffel bag or a suitcase. It was about getting rid of old baggage.

"Deal," he said.

It was cheaper to buy a set. So, Edward got the basic black roller duffel. I got a little carry on . Two parts of a whole. I kind of liked that.

I had a feeling we were both going to get a lot of use out of them.

**E/N: Thanks to Staceygirl aka jackbauer for suffering two rounds of betaing. Without hmonster4, you would have all been stuck with the super crappy first draft. Finally love to daisy3853 for a pre-read. **


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